


Bring It Home

by ursweetheartless



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Broke College Student Peter Parker, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadpool - Freeform, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nobody Believes in Themselves, accidental sugar daddy, cannon adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursweetheartless/pseuds/ursweetheartless
Summary: In which Peter is a broke college student, and Wade becomes his accidental sugar daddy.The flyer was just sitting there, tacked to the community board at the coffee shop. The board was back by the bathroom, out of the way of most of the foot traffic, but there was still only one little paper tab left on the bottom. Peter took the whole thing without even really thinking about it and slid back into the cozy booth by the window with a grin.“I found a way to get out of your hair!” He tried not to sound as desperate and excited as he felt. The ad promisedsuperlow rent, in exchange for light housework and looking after the place while the guy was away on business. It would solve so many problems. It soundedperfect.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 80
Kudos: 465





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I have other things I should be working on but I edited this up instead. enjoy?

The flyer was just sitting there, tacked to the community board at the coffee shop. It was the fancy one just off campus, the one where MJ insisted on taking him between classes every Thursday because she refused to let him _live_ in the library. The board was back by the bathroom, out of the way of most of the foot traffic, but there was still only one little paper tab left on the bottom. 

Peter took the whole thing without even really thinking about it and slid back into the cozy booth by the window with a grin. 

“I found a way to get out of your hair!” He tried not to sound as desperate and excited as he felt. The ad promised _super_ low rent, in exchange for light housework and looking after the place while the guy was away on business. It would solve so many problems. It sounded _perfect._

MJ laughed in his face, then paused when she figured out he was _serious_. 

“Peter, sweetie no. This is _ridiculous._ I guarantee you this is some sort of sugar daddy thing.” She said, around a smile she wasn’t even trying to tamp down. “This is one hundred percent some weird old guy who’s gonna wanna fuck you or something, maybe make you wear some sort of skimpy maid costume while you scrub his floors and shit.” 

Peter made a face, but he slid the paper back over to his side of the table protectively. Yeah, there was obviously some sort of a catch, because it seemed a little too perfect. He needed _something_ to work out for him though. If he had to stay in the love nest with Harry and MJ one second longer he was going to go insane. They were somehow _still_ in the honeymoon phase of their relationship after a year and a half and it was getting obnoxious. Peter huffed. 

“Don’t be _gross_. There are websites for… that kind of stuff. You don’t just go splashing it all over the bulletin board at the coffee shop.” Peter whined, and MJ raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of her expensive coffee. 

“Look, if that’s your thing, more power to you. Go out there, get laid, chase your bliss or whatever. I promise I will only judge silently and from a distance, I’ll be very outwardly supportive.” Peter flushed, and MJ giggled, then turned serious. “Look, just… be careful, okay? If you’re really gonna do this, promise me you’ll be careful and trust your gut if things get weird.” 

Peter nodded, and MJ let it go. 

  


* * *

  


Peter called that evening. The guy— Wade, he said —didn’t _sound_ old or weird. He even made Peter laugh more than once in their ten-minute phone call. They set up an appointment for the next day, a rare Saturday where Peter didn’t have to work, to meet up for coffee. Wade insisted on the stupidly expensive coffee shop where this had started, and Peter hadn’t fought it. 

So there he was, standing by the pickup counter all on his own. MJ had offered to come with him for moral support, then threatened to show up anyway and lurk at the back of the place in case Peter needed someone to create a diversion so he could escape. Peter had made her promise not to. Then he’d made Harry promise to make sure she didn’t because he didn’t trust her on this. Yeah, maybe this was some sort of weird honey-pot trap, but Peter _needed_ this. Besides, he could usually rely on his instincts to tell him when things were going to go badly. And he was _Spider-Man._ He could take care of himself, if it came to that. 

The guy— Wade —popped up as soon as they called Peter’s name, waving awkwardly from the corner. He was… not what Peter had expected. He wasn’t old, not really _that_ much older than Peter. He was built, too. Not bulky, but his shoulders were broad and he filled out that jacket pretty well. 

He was also covered in scars, like burns, everywhere Peter could see. Underneath that though, his bone structure was phenomenal. Peter wondered idly if he could get Wade to pose for him sometime if this whole thing worked out. He could picture the light and shadow playing across the texture of Wade’s skin. And those eyes. Freelance photography paid a good chunk of his bills, and those shots would make his portfolio for sure. 

If this worked out. 

Peter nodded, smiling politely. 

“You’re Wade then?” He asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth. “Great. Wonderful. Good to meet you. I’m Peter, though… god, you already knew that, huh?” Peter gritted his teeth and awkwardly stuck his free hand out for Wade to shake. His grip was firm, and he was wearing thin leather gloves that were soft against Peter’s palm. 

“Yeah, I picked that one up from the context clues. I may be slow, but I’m not _that_ slow.” Wade grinned, soft enough that Peter felt himself relax a bit. “I’ve already got a table, over here in the corner. Unless you’ve changed your mind, which I totally get. You wouldn’t be the first.” Wade added, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Peter arched an eyebrow and motioned for Wade to lead the way. 

It was a little quieter in the back corner, tucked behind the wall at the end of the counter. They were out of the way back here. Wade flopped into one of the chairs, a laptop open on the table in front of him. He motioned to the other chair, which Peter gladly took. 

“So tell me about _you_ Peter.” Wade said, picking up his own coffee from the table. Peter stared awkwardly at his cup. He hated that question. He never knew what the other person wanted out of it. 

“Well, I’m studying biochem. Hopefully, I’ll graduate in the spring. Then grad school I guess. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stay in the area for that. Right now I’m staying with friends, but that’s not an ideal situation so I’m trying to find another place, obviously, I guess.” Peter sounded nervous, and he hated it. He fiddled with the cup in his hands. “I have an internship I’m finishing up right now, and I do a few odd jobs, mostly photography stuff. It doesn’t pay much, but I manage to squeak by most of the time.” 

Peter’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, and he flinched, almost dropping the coffee. He shot Wade an apologetic look as he fished it out. 

“Sorry, I’ll put it on silent.” He dug it out one-handed and dismissed the text from MJ without reading it. Then he put it in airplane mode and set it on the table. “I should have done that earlier.” Wade waved it off. 

“It’s fine,” Wade said around a smile, then he gestured to the phone. “Is that Spider-Man?” 

Peter blushed, and nodded. His lock screen was a picture he’d taken, trying to get something he could sell to the Bugle. JJ hadn’t taken that one, because it didn’t fit the narrative he had for Spider-Man, but Peter liked it. It was an objectively good shot, and he’d stuck that one in his portfolio too. The sun shining behind him as he scaled the building was kind of beautiful. He’d held onto it, for himself. He had a good excuse after all. 

“Yeah, like I said I take pictures sometimes. I’ve gotten more than a few of Spider-Man, sometimes I can get something for them from the Daily Bugle. I’m not staff or anything, but they pay decent money for superhero stuff.” Peter said, shrugging it off. “I liked that one, but they didn’t want it.” 

Wade smiled widely, leaning back in his chair. 

“No shit! You’ve got a lot of photos of Spidey, huh? I’d love to see them.” Then he shifted, eyeing Peter contemplatively, “So what do you think of him? Spider-Man I mean. Are all the nasty things the Bugle says about him true?” 

Peter sighed. 

“I mean, I’m not a journalist or anything, but I don’t think so. He seems like an okay guy, like he’s just trying to help.” Peter tried to read Wade’s reaction, watching his face carefully. Wade grinned. 

“Yeah, I think he’s doing good. He seems like a good guy, real solid morals.” Wade cocked his head to the side, and Peter felt like he was under a microscope. What did this guy know? “He just seems like the kind of guy who’d walk your kids to school or help you move, you know?” 

Peter nodded, taking another sip of his coffee to hide the nervous grin. Wade watched him for another long moment before continuing. 

“So here’s the deal, Petey-pie. I’m out of town a lot for work. Sometimes for months at a time. I need someone who can look after the house while I’m gone, maybe make sure everything’s running smoothly while I’m here. I’m not real great at being a functional human a lot of the time. I also need to kick you out for a few days every now and then. It’s nothing personal, I just need the house to myself sometimes. It will only be weekends, some holidays. Once a month maybe.” Wade eyed Peter, gauging his reaction, so Peter nodded. It was odd, but not a deal-breaker, not for _this_ deal anyway. 

“Other than that it's just you, living in a nice apartment, for free. I also cook a lot, and I usually have leftovers you’d be more than welcome to if you want. I’m not great, but it’s a hobby. You’d have your own room, plenty of closet space and stuff. It’s, uh, furnished right now, but I can put everything in storage if you have furniture you wanna move in.” Wade was still studying him as he spoke, and Peter nodded again, smiling. 

Wade paused, then added, “So, wanna come see the place?” 

  


* * *

  


The loft was _huge_ , especially for midtown Manhattan. It was open, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall, and it was obviously expensive. Everything looked brand new, and _clean_. Peter had the urge to take off his shoes the moment they stepped inside, but Wade didn’t seem to care as he ushered him further into the apartment. 

“Living room’s here, you can see. I’ve got game systems and shit, sorry I mean stuff, over there. I’ve got Netflix and Hulu and that Disney thing and whatever too.” Wade gestured vaguely at things as they moved through the space. “There’s the kitchen, obviously. Some of the pans and stuff need special care, we can cross that bridge when we get there.” 

Peter paused by the couch and looked out the window. They were high enough up here that he could see a patchwork expanse of rooftops, with a glimpse of the park beyond. Wade set a hand on his lower back to get him moving again, steering him towards the hallway. Peter carefully didn’t flinch at the contact, but Wade’s had was very warm even through his shirt. Wade looked away, pulling his hand back quickly when Peter looked over at him. He was oddly disappointed at the loss. _MJ was wrong_. 

“Anyways,” Wade continued, clearing his throat and pointedly not looking at Peter. “This first one is my room, that’s the bathroom, and the guest room,” Wade gestured at doors as they passed, until they reached the end of the hall, and he pushed that one open. 

“And this would be your room.” 

Peter stepped around Wade, brushing against him, to look inside. It was fairly big, like the rest of the apartment, and the furniture all looked new and modern. Peter trailed his fingers over the footboard of the bed, then the desk by the window. A window that opened, with a fire escape outside. He could work with this. Wade pushed open another door. 

“There’s no bathroom, but there’s a decent-sized closet. Plus, my room has a bathroom, so the hall bath would pretty much be yours.” Wade said, eyeing Peter expectantly. Peter nodded politely. _Decent sized closet_ was an understatement. He could sleep in there if he wanted. 

“So what do you think? Is it everything you wanted?” Peter was curious still, because so far it seemed a little too good to be true even _with_ Wade’s weird conditions. He also wasn't blind. He’d caught the way Wade had looked at his ass on the way here. 

“Yeah, I guess. Not to be rude, but this seems like an amazing deal. What’s the catch?” Peter tried to sound polite, and Wade didn’t seem to take offense. Peter still kind of felt like shit for bringing it up. 

“I know, I just… we already talked about most of it, I know that’s a lot on its own. Really though? I just need someone who can put up with me, with all of _this_ ,” Wade gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not great at playing house. I promise there won’t be any weird stuff. Well, no, there’ll be weird stuff. Nothing bad though. But I’m not always easy to get along with all the time.” 

Wade paused for long enough that Peter thought he was done, but when he opened his mouth to respond Wade continued. 

“But most of the time things are fine. And I’m gone a lot lately, so as long as you can keep everything from burning down and make sure no one breaks in and guts the place it’ll be all yours. I’ve got a… business trip coming up, but it’ll only be a few days probably. We can do a trial run when I get back? Make sure it works for both of us?” 

Wade looked genuinely hopeful. Sure, some things were a little shady, but Peter didn’t think it was dangerous and he usually trusted his instincts. It usually worked out okay. 

“That’d be great.” 

  


* * *

  


It was barely a week later when Peter showed up again, ready to move in. He swung the heavy duffle down from his shoulder and rang the buzzer. He’d texted Wade that afternoon, ready to sign papers or whatever, and he’d just told him he could move in that evening. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but Wade pulling him inside with a huge grin and enough takeout to feed an army wasn’t it. Netflix was up on the television, some menu deep in the recommendations. 

“Petey! Is that all you brought?” Wade grabbed the duffle the moment Peter set it down, staggering a little under the weight of it. He eyed Peter carefully. “Damn, you don’t skip _any_ days at the gym, huh? You don’t look that strong, Baby Boy, but you can _lift_.” Peter blushed, looking down at the floor. He should have thought of that, but he’d been excited to get out of the love nest. 

“If you’ve got more stuff, I have a whole storage locker down in the basement. I can move some stuff around if you have more shit… I mean, more stuff to bring over. Tons of room, just let me know. I don’t remember exactly what I shoved down there. Just… let me know first. Wouldn’t want you to get, uh, hurt or anything, rooting around down there.” Wade said, dragging the duffle back towards Peter’s room. 

“It’s fine, I can come get it. Looks a little heavy. And, I uh… that’s pretty much it actually. I have some photo stuff in my locker at school, but other than that I’ve kinda paired things down recently. I’ve been crashing with friends.” Peter said, crossing to try and take the bag back from Wade, who waved him off. 

“No, I insist. This is a good workout, right? Speed it up, this is basically CrossFit. I can feel the burn already.” Wade insisted, then pointed towards the couch. “You hungry? I got more than enough. Pick something to watch while you’re at it, whatever I’m not picky. I’ll just be right back.” 

So Peter sat down on the couch, not really wanting to argue. His Spider-Man stuff was in there, but it was buried deep, under enough layers of clothing and textbooks that it would take more than a quick second of snooping to find it. It would take commitment. 

Peter was still flipping through the choices when Wade got back a moment later, flopping down next to him on the obscenely comfortable couch. Peter landed on a horror movie, a little bit indie but it had a great rating, and looked over at Wade who just shrugged and started shoveling tacos into his mouth. He hit play and sat back, taking the plate Wade passed him without question. 

And that was the evening. They watched the movie, Wade kept up a color commentary through the first half while he kept shuffling food onto Peter’s plate until it was gone. It should have been obnoxious, but it wasn’t. When the action heightened he fell silent, and didn’t mention it when Peter flinched closer and closer through the inevitable rising tension. 

When the movie ended, the sequel queued up behind it, and neither one of them moved. By the time the credits rolled on the second movie and Peter sat up to stretch, Wade was asleep across the couch, head lolled awkwardly to the side at a decidedly uncomfortable-looking angle. Peter studied him for a moment, blinking sleepily, watching the pattern of light across Wade’s scars. Wade didn’t seem thrilled about them, but they weren’t that bad. They were noticeable, yeah, but not _ugly_. Peter kind of wanted to run his finger across them, to feel the uneven surface. He didn’t, because that would be weird. Instead, he shook Wade’s shoulder gently. 

“Hey sleepyhead, wake up.” Wade made a soft noise, and twitched a little, curling away from Peter. Peter rolled his eyes and tried to tamp down a smile. “Seriously, you’ll put a crick in your neck sleeping with your head like that. It’s like twenty feet to your bedroom lazy bones.” 

He shook Wade’s shoulder again, more firmly this time. Wade came up swinging, and Peter barely managed to duck out of the way, instincts taking over as he dropped into a defensive crouch for a moment before he recovered. He has felt Wade’s hand whiz by, even with his enhanced reflexes he’d almost caught a punch to the face. 

They watched each other carefully, Peter with wide eyes and Wade’s narrowed. Then Wade swore under his breath, burying his face in his hands for a moment. Peter just sat there, on the floor, staying still. His senses were quiet now, danger passed but adrenaline still thrumming through him. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, keeping his voice low and even. Wade lifted his face with a wry half-smile. 

“Yeah. Sorry, yeah, I should be asking _you_ that. I was… I have some issues with personal space. I get a little… jumpy.” Wade said slowly, deliberately. Peter could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. There was a story there, but he knew he didn’t have the right to it, not yet. He let it go, climbing unsteadily to his feet as he calmed his breathing. 

“It’s fine. You didn’t even touch me, really.” Peter said. Then, more softly, “Could you tell me what it was? What I did? So we can avoid it, going forwards I mean.” 

Wade huffed, letting his head drop backward again, thudding against the back of the couch quietly. 

“I’m not used to having someone else in the house yet I guess? It’ll get better, I promise. You’ll become familiar. I just… maybe try not to sneak up on me? I don’t startle well.” Then he turned a little, looking over at Peter without lifting his head. “I’ll try not to fall asleep out here, but maybe just leave me be if I do? I’ll survive.” 

Peter pulled a face, unconvinced. 

“Wade, I’m not just gonna leave you on the couch, you’ll hurt your neck.” Wade sat up, looking like he wanted to argue the point, but Peter kept going anyway. “Besides, it’s good training, it’ll help with agility. You almost got me, I’ll just have to get faster, right?” 

Peter stepped closer, holding out a hand. Wade eyed it for a moment before he took it, letting Peter pull him to his feet. 

“You look tired, you just got back.” Peter offers, reluctantly letting Wade’s hand go. “Go to bed, I’ll clean up out here, then shut everything down for the night. Sound good?” 

“Yeah, we can clean up in the morning if you wanna turn in. It’ll keep.” Wade offered. Peter waved it off. 

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna get much sleep tonight anyway. I have a paper to finish, and a test to study for. This will just give me an excuse to procrastinate a little more.” 

Wade looked guilty, all wide-eyed and guileless shock. 

“Petey, if you had stuff to do you didn’t have to waste the evening _out here_. I promise I won’t get all butt-hurt if you don’t wanna hang out.” Wade said. 

“No, it was nice.” Peter said, because it was the truth, “I had fun watching stupid movies with you. I can’t work _all_ the time.” Wade nodded, then yawned widely without covering his mouth. Peter watched the line of Wade’s body as he stretched, the edge of his shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of even more scars swirling in seemingly random patterns across his stomach. It was… appealing. 

Wade dropped his arms and fixed the hem of his shirt self-consciously. Peter forced a wide smile. 

“Shoo now, off to bed. Have a good night, Wade.” Peter said, and Wade smiled softer this time. 

“G’night Petey-Pie.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Things went well. Things went really well actually.

It was almost two months before Wade left for his first business trip since Peter moved in. Peter was kind of excited, looking forward to having the apartment to himself. He liked having Wade around and all, having someone there when he got home, having someone who reminded him to eat and get to sleep at a fairly decent hour, having someone to watch movies with. The prospect of having the place to himself for a bit was still new and exciting though. He wouldn’t have to worry about how quietly he could climb out the window in the night, or trying not to let on that he was cleaning and patching up a knife wound in the bathroom at 4am.

He sat on the floor, in front of the couch, with his lab notes spread out around him as he tried to put everything together into a cohesive report. Wade was in the other room packing, and Peter could hear him singing quietly through the door. It was just off-key and just off rhythm, and it made Peter smile affectionately.

The tinge of melancholy was there, tinting his peripheral vision. He didn’t acknowledge it until Wade reappeared triumphant, a ridiculous Hello Kitty duffle bag hoisted on one shoulder and a huge smile plastered across his face.

“Don’t have _too_ much fun without me, Petey-Pie. Call me if you have any wild parties, and try not to burn the place down until I get back.” He dropped the duffle by the door, then came back to lean over the back of the couch and tousle Peter’s hair playfully. “If there’s an emergency, call me. If I don’t pick up, there’s a number on the fridge. Call it, mention my name, and they’ll figure it out.”

Peter tilted his head back, looking at Wade upside down. He was going to _miss_ him. That was… odd, but not out of place if he thought about it.

“I should be back in a week. Maybe two? I’ll try to check in every once in awhile, but sometimes things get crazy.” Wade said as he shouldered the bag again. “Have some fun though. Promise you won’t just work the whole time? All work and no play makes Petey a dull boy and all that.” Peter forced a nod and a smile.

The room felt colder as soon as Wade shut the door behind him, and Peter was alone.

  


* * *

  


It turned out that Peter didn’t _like_ living alone. He’d never actually done it before but he’d always thought that was the goal, some sort of badge of adulthood. Actually, it just sucked.

He made it two days before he begged MJ to come over to study for the afternoon. She spent the first ten minutes solid gushing about the fancy apartment and all the cool things Wade had. Peter rolled his eyes, because Harry’s apartment was pretty damn fancy, and Wade’s place seemed comparable. Peter had followed her around dutifully, and only stopped her when she went to open Wade’s bedroom door. That felt odd to him, letting her barge in there while Wade was gone.

Eventually, they settled onto the couch, textbooks and papers spread out around them while they both stared at their laptops. Peter had four solid pages written before the buzzer interrupted him. It was a kid from Postmates, laden with groceries. Peter double-checked the address and the account name with the increasingly annoyed delivery guy. Wade had put in the order though, only twenty-five minutes ago at that.

Peter texted him anyway, assuming it was a mix-up, an automated order he’d forgotten to cancel. Wade texted back that it absolutely wasn’t, and that he had to keep Peter from starving while he was gone. He reminded Peter to eat his vegetables and go to bed on time, before he had to get back to work. The delivery guy had vanished during the exchange, leaving the bags in the doorway. MJ watched the whole thing with a stupid grin on her face, though she waited until Peter was putting things away in the kitchen to comment.

“And you’re _sure_ this isn’t some sort of Sugar Daddy thing?” Peter glared at her half-heartedly, hiding his face behind the fridge door.

“It _isn’t_ , if you met Wade you’d get it. This is just how he is.” Peter doesn’t sound convinced. MJ leans against the cupboards, watching him slide in packages of pre-cut organic vegetables.

“Sounds fake, but okay. Whatever lets you sleep at night, tiger.” MJ said it in a teasing way, but Peter still bristled at the sentiment.

“I’m _serious_ though. He’s not like that. We’ve fallen asleep on the couch together, we’ve cooked together, hung out. If he wanted to take advantage of the situation, he’s _had_ every opportunity, and hasn’t taken _any_.” MJ continued to eye him skeptical, and Peter’s voice went up and octave. “Wade’s a good guy. Don’t make this weird please, he’s just _nice._ ” MJ snorted, but turned back into the living room anyway.

“Seems a little _too_ nice. He’s looking after you while you’re all alone, making sure you're thinking of him.” She half shouted, but settled back down. She let it go until Peter was done putting everything away, and joined her in the living room again. He tossed her an apple— a Honeycrisp, Wade had sent a whole bag of them —and she paused before setting it down on the table.

“Just… if he gets weird, if he’s pushy or whatever, you can always come back and stay with me and Harry. As long as you need. I know it’s not perfect, but you’re always welcome.” She didn’t look up, studying the apple carefully while she spoke. “And not just when you get sexiled or whatever, or if you get weirded out. You can just come if you need a break, you know? Any time. As long as you need.”

Peter wanted to push the issue, wanted to make her see that it really isn’t _like that_ , but he stopped instead. He smiled softly and ducked his head to focus on the paper he’s supposed to be writing.

“I know. I appreciate that. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Then she really did let it go. Peter finished his paper, and MJ put together her research presentations, and they quizzed each other until well after dark. MJ ordered a pizza eventually, and then goaded Peter into eating most of it. It was familiar. It was nice.

Then she left, catching the train back home sometime near midnight, and Peter was alone in the apartment again. It was quiet and empty. Peter didn’t get much sleep.

  


* * *

  


Clint was the one who warned him about Deadpool. Peter had heard the name before, but he’d never really given it a second thought. He was a small-time, one city type of hero. If Deadpool wasn’t in New York, Deadpool wasn’t his problem.

He’d just finished helping Clint and Natasha take down a Hydra cell in the Bronx. It had been small, and they normally wouldn’t have bothered knocking down a disorganized group of incompetent white supremacist assholes. They’d been wearing the badge though, and Peter wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to punch some Nazis. It was good stress relief, and it helped him burn off the nervous energy he had because Wade _still_ wasn’t back from his business trip. He texted pretty much every day, but Peter was still home alone and _hating_ it.

They’d finished the job quickly and quietly, packing them all off to jail and turning the place upside down for any intel they could pass off to SHIELD. Peter had strained his wrist on a swing that had gone just slightly wrong, but that was the biggest injury. They’d stopped to grab dinner afterward, somewhere quick and simple, where they didn’t have to worry about sitting in the back still all costumed up. Clint had waited until Nat headed to the bathroom before he got serious.

“Hey kid, we’ve gotten some intel that suggests there’s a mercenary hanging around New York. His name is Deadpool, dresses head to toe in red and black.” Peter fidgeted with the bottle he’s almost emptied, peeling the label at the edges. He was listening, but he was also _tired_. “We’ve worked with him in the past, _I’ve_ worked with him, but he’s not entirely stable.”

Clint slid a thumb drive across the table, and Peter knew it would have a dossier on in if he opened it up. Probably information on the guy’s comings and goings, maybe even where he liked to get breakfast or which dry cleaner he used. Peter took it, but he knew he wouldn’t open it unless he needed to.

“I’ll be fine. I made it this far.” Peter said, without the biting heat that the words might have carried had he pointed them at anyone else. Clint and Natasha were SHIELD agents first and foremost, but they were also the only Avengers who didn’t treat him like a kid. He knew this was serious, but he also knew he could handle it. “I’ll keep my eyes out, I promise. Thanks for the heads up.”

Peter drained the rest of his beer and contemplated ordering another. Clint studied him.

“You can call us, you know. Not just the Avengers, but me and Nat. If you’re in over your head, or you need some backup, we’ll be there if we can. We’ve got your back, kid.” Clint said it seriously, but he was smiling now. Peter nodded, pulling his mask back over the bottom half of his face.

“I will. I promise.” Peter said, and he meant it.

Nat returned from the bathroom then, weaving through the sparse crowd to lean heavily against Clint’s side. She looked drunk, but Peter knew it was an act because she’d been nursing the same beer since they’d ordered and it was still most of the way full.

“I warned him about Deadpool,” Clint said, conversationally. Natasha made a face.

“Ugh, Deadpool.” She sounded half disgusted, half amused. “Stay away from him. Seriously. He’s not… no, actually, he absolutely _is_ dangerous. He’s a trained mercenary, he can heal from just about anything, and he’s killed a _lot_ of people. He’s nowhere close to stable. Mostly though? He’s _obnoxious_.” She slid away from Clint, and back to her stool.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t engage with him. He’ll get bored, finish whatever it is he’s doing here, and head out. Then he’ll be someone else’s problem again.” Natasha looked straight at him while she spoke, in the way that made Peter feel like she could see through the mask. He nodded again.

“I have no intention of engaging him, I promise. I want absolutely zero trouble.” Peter said, and he meant it. He wanted nothing to do with Deadpool. Natasha nodded, then caught Clint’s eye, motioning towards the dartboard in the corner with her chin. There were already a few frat boys clustered around it, and they were decent but not amazing. Peter rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet.

“Have a good evening, guys. I’m headed home.”

  


* * *

  


He tossed the thumb drive into a desk drawer when he got home, but he kept an eye out for Deadpool after that.

  


* * *

  


It was a little more than a month before Wade got back. Peter returned from class one evening, ready to microwave something and then head out on patrol to pass the time. Wade was sitting on the couch when he pushed the door open, staring blankly at the television, looking about as tired as Peter felt. Peter smiled, locking the door behind him, and Wade shot him a lopsided grin.

Maybe no patrol tonight then.

“You’re back! How was your trip?” Peter tried not to sound excited, but he didn’t manage it at all. Wade shrugged but didn’t move much else. Peter studied him closely as he dropped his school bag by the door. “Have you eaten anything? I could make sliders, with those little Hawaiian sweet rolls you kept ordering. I have enough stuff to make a whole mountain of them.” Peter offered.

Wade blinked slowly, and he looked like he wanted to say no. The silence stretched out long enough that Peter was ready to shrug it off, heat up some leftovers, and hide in his bedroom out of the way. Then Wade nodded and sat up a little.

“Yeah, that’d be great Baby Boy. You got work to do? You wanna watch something with me?” Wade asked, sounding exhausted but still hopeful.

Peter did have work to do, he _always_ had work to do, but he could do it later. Wade was back, and he looked like he needed a good meal and some quiet time, and Peter could use the break as well.

  


* * *

  


He was warm and comfortable as he woke up, slowly surfacing from sleep to a sitcom laugh track running in the background. Someone was breathing softly against his scalp and tracing patterns down his back lightly. It was _really_ nice, soft and quiet. He hadn’t been sleeping well, all alone in the apartment and he didn’t want to wake up yet, so he turned his head a little, burying his face away from the flickering light of the television. He sighed contentedly.

The fingers on his back went still suddenly, then disappeared. He could feel whoever he was laying on tense, and pull away. He screwed his face up into a pout.

“Noooo, don’t stop. S’nice.” He mumbled, and he heard a familiar nervous chuckle in response. Oh. Right. This was Wade, and they were snuggling up on the couch in their living room. He took a deep breath but didn’t move, even when Wade stopped touching him any more than he had to. It wasn’t nothing, he was draped over Wade’s lap with his head resting on Wade’s chest and… oh. _Oh._

“Sorry, didn’t mean to crawl all over you like that.” Peter scrambled to sit up, sliding until he’d put a reasonable amount of space between them. Their knees were still touching, and Peter could probably rest his head on Wade’s shoulder again if he leaned over a bit, but… it _was_ a reasonable amount of space right? Oh god, _what was a reasonable, platonic amount of space to leave between them?_ Peter offered a sheepish smile, but his cheeks were flushed dark.

“It’s fine Baby Boy.” Wade’s voice was raspy and low from sleep. He didn’t _sound_ like this was an unreasonable amount of space. He’d say something if it was, right? If he didn’t want Peter this close, he’d just say something. Peter carefully studied Wade in his peripheral vision, not looking straight at him.

Wade turned back to the TV with the pointed, single-minded attention of someone _not looking_ somewhere else. Peter was tired and cold now. He should get up and go to bed. He should leave Wade in peace and go back to sleep in his own bed.

He stood up, stretching and yawning, but he couldn’t quiet his racing mind enough to get back to sleep, so he suited up instead and slipped out the window to patrol. When Peter got back, the nervous energy and second-guessing weren’t _gone_ but they were quieter. Wade wasn’t in the living room though, and the apartment was dark save for the sliver of light shining out under Wade’s door. Peter stood there for a moment, in the dark hallway.

He went to bed. He still got more sleep than he had when he was here alone, so that was _something_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spidey meets Deadpool, and Deadpool is not as scary as he'd been lead to believe. He's just as weird though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this chapter but if i stare at it any more im going to delete it so i figure its better than no chapter.
> 
> enjoy?

Peter didn’t run into Deadpool on patrol. In fact, he didn’t run into Deadpool at all until he was tagging along on another SHIELD mission. Natasha had been helping him with stealth training. His abilities lent themselves to quiet entries and sneaking around, after all. 

This time, they were headed upstate, to another Hydra base. There’d been a spike in activity, that little league Hydra cell they’d broken up had been part of a trend, and SHIELD had picked up on a base up by Black River that seemed like ground zero for the recruitment push. It could be nothing, but it could be something big. There were an awful lot of wannabe Hydra agents heading up there, and no indication where they went afterward. It was like they were dropping off the face of the earth. 

Peter didn’t know why Deadpool was with them, but he was there when Peter had arrived, and frankly, he didn’t care much. Help was help, and Clint and Natasha were on board for this but none of the other Avengers were around. Backup would be helpful, and he was happy enough to be invited along. Peter nodded when he was introduced but Deadpool squealed, hands up over his face, and insisted on sitting next to him when they strapped in. 

“OMG Spidey! Big fan! I’ve gotta say, I’ve seen a lot of pictures— and I mean a _lot_ of pictures —and they don’t do your pert behind _any_ justice. It must be one of those things, like taking pictures of art. They turn out okay, they can still be visually stunning and all, but there’s an essence there that can’t be captured in a photograph, you know?” Deadpool babbled as he bounced in place. Just watching him was making Peter tired already. 

Natasha made purposeful eye contact from across the jet, silently offering to intervene, but Peter shook his head. It was a whole lot, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was almost cute. 

“Deadpool, _focus_.” Natasha snapped, as the agent who was running the mission came back to brief them. He’d been hoping Captain America might be along for this part, since Hydra was a long-running sore spot for him, but they had no such luck. He hated SHIELD briefings. They always went like bad lectures, with long lists of background information, any bit of which could be on the final test. Deadpool pouted theatrically, but he stayed quiet as the agent laid out the plan. 

“Spider-Man, your entry point is here.” The agent held out a modified StarkPad, and a hologram spun out above it, showing a rough layout of their destination. Peter leaned forwards. “Widow, yours is here. You’ll each have trackers, and a thumb drive. You’re looking for labs or servers.” 

The agent turned the tablet, and the hologram spun in the air a bit, before it grew and rose, showing what they knew about the lower levels, and possible locations of interest. 

“Remember, this is a stealth mission. We are not here to break up this cell, we are not here to shut it down. We are here to gather intel. We need to know what they’re up to if we’re going to have any chance of shutting this down rather than driving it further underground.” The agent was looking at Peter while he said this, which was annoying. He nodded anyway. He could do this. Then he paused. “Spider-Man, you’ll be going in through the air vents. The plans we have for the building suggest there are two separate labs on that vent system. Those are our best bet. Widow, you’re going in through a service corridor along the other end. We’re fairly sure the main server room is right around here.” He pointed to an area of the plan, and Natasha nodded. 

“Deadpool.” Everyone turned to look at Deadpool, who was fiddling with something on his phone. He didn’t look up, didn’t indicate that he’d been paying attention at _all._ The agent stared at him for a moment, weighing something silently, then rolled his eyes. “Deadpool will provide a distraction.” 

And that was all they got on that. The agent didn’t even look at Deadpool any longer than he had to, turning back towards the tablet. Peter turned back to the plans and tried his best to memorize his route. It looked like a fairly straight shot. 

He was still studying it when Natasha passed him an earpiece, which he took with a silent thank you and slipped in under his mask. 

  


* * *

  


The vent was a tight fit, he barely had enough space to get his knees under him to crawl and definitely too tight to turn around. He was quietly thankful he didn’t have any issues with claustrophobia and focused on being quiet. The intel they had said he should be approaching one of the labs now, and that it should be empty by now. 

The problem was, it wasn’t. There were two scientists huddled over by the autoclave, talking in hushed tones he couldn’t make out. Peter slumped a little, disappointed, and tapped a pattern on his com to send a signal that everything was not all clear. There was a moment of silence, and then Natasha signaled that she was fine. At least there was that. 

“Spider-Man, remember this is about stealth. Sit tight or back off, but they can’t know we’ve been here or they’ll abandon the base and burn it to the ground.” The agent said, calm and quiet. Peter _knew_ that. He didn’t have to like it. 

He started to back up. If he could work his way back to the last branch, there should be another lab there. Maybe he’d have better luck with that one. It was a tight fit, and slow going, but he could still manage to get something out of this, right? 

But where the second lab should be, based on the plans they’d studied back in the quinjet, there wasn’t a lab. It was a dark room, with nothing in it. No boxes, no cabinets, no suspicious-looking crates, no servers. Nothing but dust. Peter shuffled forwards, hoping maybe he’d miscounted or something, and the quiet empty lab would be another room down, but he hit the end of the vent quickly, just grating and a large fan pulling air. He slumped. 

Natasha signaled that she was out, and Peter cursed silently. 

“Spider-Man, withdraw immediately.” The agent sounded… spooked. Something wasn’t quite right. He was about to tap out an inquiry, but the agent kept going. “I’m serious, get out of there now. Widow has the intel we need. I need you to leave as quickly and quietly as you can, and send us your coordinates as soon as you’re outside the base perimeter. Do you understand?” 

Peter pulled a face. He was tempted to ignore the order, go back to the first lab. The scientists could have cleared out by now. He didn’t. He tapped an acknowledgment and started the long slow process of backing out. 

  


* * *

  


He was snippy on the plane, frustrated and still high on a mixture of adrenaline and failure. Natasha had come out with two manilla folders containing hard-copy files, two copied hard-drives, and she was already reading the location of all ten of the tracking chips she’d planted, all while Peter was waiting around in an air vent like an asshole. This had been his chance to step up to the main roster, have the Avengers stop treating him like a kid and he’d gotten _nothing_. 

They didn’t wait for Deadpool to come back out, they lifted off before Peter was even strapped in. He noted that, but didn’t question it. Either someone would tell him what was going on or they wouldn’t. The agent in charge was watching him warily though, like he was a ticking bomb about to go off, and it was getting on his last nerve. 

Wade wasn’t there when Peter got home, tired and covered in vent dust. 

He was a little relieved. This way he wouldn’t have to explain why he was in a shitty mood, and covered in vent dust, and coming home _way_ later than he usually did. By the time he’d taken a long hot shower, and doddled around in the bathroom afterward until the steam had all faded from the mirror, he was mostly just disappointed. 

It would have been nice to flop down on the couch next to Wade, fall asleep watching something stupid on the television. Instead, he was alone, the guilt clawing at him. He knew, on an intellectual level, that there wasn’t much he could have done differently tonight. He knew the fact that he’d walked out of that base with _nothing_ wasn’t his fault. 

He still felt like a failure though. 

  


* * *

  


Natasha didn’t call him very often, Peter had the impression that she didn’t just hang out with friends from work. Given certain values of “friend” and “work” at least. When she did call, especially so soon after their SHIELD sponsored trip upstate, he went without asking many questions. It was probably important. 

She named a bar in the Bronx, somewhere small and out of the way enough that it took him a while to get there. He still swung there, with a parka on over the suit because it was starting to get _cold_ and the swinging only made it worse. 

They made small talk at first, something Peter is terrible at but Natasha more than picked up the slack. They made vague comments about teammates and references to missions, and the few times lately that Spider-Man has made the front page of the Bugle. It took a bit more than an hour for Natasha to get around to the point, letting her smile fall so Peter knew she was serious. 

“We got some intel. From the Hydra base.” Her voice was steady and low, “We don’t know what they’re planning yet, exactly. Some sort of new angle on their super-soldier program. We do know they mentioned you by name, so be careful. They’re out for your blood.” 

Peter tensed, but nodded. He didn’t know what to do with that information, now that he had it, but it was probably better to know. 

  


* * *

  


“Hey, Spidey! Fancy meeting you here!” 

Peter flinched at the exclamation, almost tumbling off the edge of the roof he was perched on. Deadpool caught him around the middle though, more quickly than Peter would have expected given his size, and pulled him back tight against his chest and onto solid ground. Peter could feel their hearts, both pounding just a bit off rhythm from each other, and fought to even out his breath. 

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you, my dude, just wanted to stop by and say Hi.” Deadpool sounded bright, with an edge of apologetic that kept Peter from being mad about it. He forced himself to take deep breaths, and he could feel Deadpool echoing him, their breaths slowly coming into sync. He rubbed his face with one gloved hand, out of habit. 

“Next time? Maybe call first. Give me a heads up.” Peter said calmly, and Deadpool loosened his hold, putting a little space between them now that Peter is calm and stable on his feet. “I’ve been a little jumpy ever since I found out Hydra wants my blood. I _need_ my blood to live.” 

Deadpool giggled, as Peter stepped back further from the edge. 

“I’d definitely call you Baby boy, I’d call you every damn day.” Deadpool edged away from him, giving him room, and Peter was _cold_ now. Deadpool was a goddamn furnace, and it was kind of nice. “Don’t have your number though. Had to track you down the old fashioned way and you are not easy to find, Spidey.” 

Peter sat back down, well away from the edge this time. He set his back against the HVAC unit, and the metal was cold through the thin fabric of the suit. He missed Deadpool’s warmth. 

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile since Hydra is trying to track me down and steal my blood.” Peter kept his voice flat and pulled his legs up so he could lean forwards onto them. “It’s been boring though. The Avengers keep telling me to lay low, on account of Hydra trying to steal my blood.” 

Peter pouted behind the mask, and Deadpool flopped heavily down beside him, just close enough that Peter could feel the edge of his body heat, but far enough away that they weren’t touching. 

“Fucking fake Nazis,” Deadpool said with a huff. “They’re the worst. They ruin everything.” Peter nodded, staring out over the city. He felt grumpy again, and he wanted to lean into Deadpool’s warmth but he wasn’t sure what the rules were here. He could feel Deadpool studying him, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

Then Deadpool leaned forward suddenly and put his arm out in front of Peter’s face. Something was dangling from his fist, about the size of a dog tag hung from a cheap silver ball chain. There was a slider on the front of it, just big enough for his thumb. Deadpool jangles it, letting it bounce around until Peter takes it. 

“For you,” Deadpool said, though Peter had guessed that much already. “Think of it like a fancy panic button. You get in over your head, just flip the switch and I’ll come get you.” 

Deadpool said it seriously, and there was something familiar about him in that moment. Peter stared at it, laid out across his gloved palm. Deadpool pulled back to wrap his arms around his knees. 

“I know, I _know_ okay. You already have the Avengers watching your back and everything, but another set of eyes can’t hurt, right?” Deadpool said it like he expected Peter to throw it back in his face. Peter supposed he hadn’t actually given Deadpool any reason not to think that, given how SHIELD and Clint and Natasha seemed to treat him. Peter smiled and slipped it over his head. It hung just below his clavicle. 

“Thanks, Deadpool. Really, it’s nice.” Peter hoped he didn’t sound as stunned stupid as he felt right then. He made the decision without really thinking about it. “You have a phone, right? A cell, I mean.” 

Deadpool turned to him with an almost offended expression, his mask somehow getting the emotion across. 

“Of _course_ I do, kid! What do I look like, an Amish?” Deadpool paused then, head tilted to the side like he was listening for something. “An Amish? An Amish-ite? What’s the singular of Amish, anyway?” Deadpool rambled, but he was also searching through the ridiculous amounts for pouches attached to his suit, looking for something. 

“Ooo, I wonder what the collective is. Like, what do you call a whole _group_ of Amish-es. I bet it’s something _cool_.” Deadpool said, then suddenly he was holding out a phone with a grin. It was a flip phone, the kind that Peter hadn’t seen since he was a kid. Peter tried not to make a face as he took it. He flipped it open, and Deadpool was suddenly _very_ close beside him. Peter didn’t mind, because Deadpool seemed harmless enough at the moment, and he was _warm._

Peter put in his number before he could second guess himself, then handed it back. 

“There. Now you can call me if you need to find me, instead of sneaking up on me while I’m all jumpy.” Peter turned to face the city again but watched Deadpool out of the corner of his eye. Deadpool squealed, a high pitched giddy sound, and threw an arm over Peter’s shoulder, holding the phone out to take their picture before Peter knew what was going on. 

The picture was dark and a little blurry when Deadpool pulled it up. Deadpool pouted. 

“Spidey, you weren’t _smiling_.” Deadpool pointed out, and Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone. 

“It’s a shitty photo, Dude. You can’t ambush photograph me with the phone that time forgot and expect it to come out good.” Peter said as he fiddled with the phone’s camera settings for a moment, optimizing them as much as he could before he held the phone out in front of them. “Alright, 3, 2, 1, smile.” 

Peter pressed the button, and the shutter sound went off again. The picture still looked kind of shitty, too dark, but he was pretty sure they were both smiling that time. Wade was holding his fingers out in a V-for-victory. 

“Yeah, I think that’s the best we’re gonna do, for now,” Peter said, half apologizing. Deadpool just squealed again and pulled Peter into another one-armed hug. 

  


* * *

  


Deadpool sent him the photo that evening, along with a long string of hearts and stars and confetti. Peter looked at it on his phone — the brand new StarkPhone that Stark had foisted on him for official Spider-Man business — and it was still dark and grainy. 

Peter sent it to the computer and spent a few hours in PhotoShop fiddling around with it when he definitely should have been studying. It still wasn’t great when he was done, but it was better. He sent it back to Deadpool with a shrug. 

The string of emoji he got back was longer this time. Peter might have smiled at it, and he might have also fingered the little pendant Deadpool had given him absently. He’d put it on a longer chain, so it would hang down under his shirt where he could hide it better. 

He might even have printed the photo out and taped it up in the back of his closet, where he kept his Spider-Man stuff. Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is concerned about Spidey and there's an identity reveal that no one deals with great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not dead. slowly but surely.
> 
> enjoy?

Finals snuck up on him a bit. That was fine because it made a good excuse for laying low. Patrolling was an exercise in paranoia lately, especially when it turned out that 90% of the time there _was_ someone following him, but it was an endless parade of junior SHIELD agents. They refused to leave him alone, but also never made conversation or eye contact when he approached them about it. It was unnerving because none of them seemed particularly good at tailing him, or hiding, or doing any of the things spies were supposed to do well. He’d have to bring it up with Natasha, next time he saw her. 

Because of finals, and the paranoia, Peter just kind of… _didn’t_ for a while. He focused on being Peter Parker instead of being Spider-Man. He tucked the costume and the shiny StarkPhone away at the back of his closet and ignored them. That was probably good because Peter Parker needed all the help he could get. It wasn’t that his schoolwork was _harder_ than normal, there was just so _much_ of it. 

Wade wasn’t around in the evenings much, which was disappointing but probably good. It helped him focus because when Wade _was_ around, he’d taken to hovering. He didn’t talk to Peter or interrupt him, but he did watch him from across the room and leave little dishes of cut fruit and bottles of ridiculous alkaline water at Peter’s elbows whenever he went past. 

It was two weeks into this, when Peter was so close to being done he could taste it, when Wade sat down at the table across from him. He didn’t say anything, or even really look at Peter, but he fidgeted with his phone in a way that made it clear that he wanted to do both. 

Peter let it go for a few long minutes, hoping Wade would get on with whatever it was or move on, before he snapped his laptop closed. He folded his hands on top of it and stared pointedly across the table. 

“What is it, Wade?” He didn’t sound annoyed, he really didn’t, even though he absolutely _was._ It could be important though. He just wanted Wade to _say_ it already, whatever it was. 

“So, uh… you take pictures of Spidey, right?” Wade asked, somewhere between embarrassed and hopeful. Peter narrowed his eyes a little, on guard again. 

“Yeah, when I can,” Peter said carefully. He hated talking about Spider-Man most of the time because it made him nervous. It made him nervous because he was _terrible_ at lying. Wade stared at the table between them, which made it a little easier. 

“Do you… I mean, any idea what he’s been up to lately?” Wade asked. He seemed _worried_ , which was sweet but also annoying. 

“Haven’t seen him. I’ve been busy with finals. He’s probably got finals too, I wouldn’t worry about him.” Peter studied Wade as he answered, hoping that would be enough. 

“Spidey’s still in _school_?” Wade asked, “How do you know that?” 

Peter flinched, prepared to backpedal, but then he decided he didn’t care that much. He was tired. 

“Look, I don’t really _know_ him, I’ve just… picked up a few things I guess? He’s not very public with everything. I know enough not to be worried though.” Peter tried hard to look disinterested. “He might even be out of town, who knows. He works with the Avengers sometimes, they’re always flying off to exotic places to kick ass. He could be in Bali stopping crime right now, I don’t know. But I’m sure he’s doing fine.” 

Wade looked mollified, at least somewhat, and Peter felt guilty then. Yeah, he needed time to be Peter, but he probably shouldn’t be cutting out _all_ the Spider-Man stuff. Peter sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. 

“I’m sure he’ll be back out there soon. I’ll let you know if I hear anything though, promise. I might even be able to get in touch with him, I’ve never really tried.” 

That got Wade to relax a bit more. Peter wanted to roll his eyes, maybe pout. It was illogical to be jealous of Spider-Man — he _was_ Spider-Man — but he still kind of was. He was tired and stressed out, and he needed to finish this lab report before midnight. He opened his computer again. 

Once he was finished with this, he had two tests he should study for. He already kind of knew he wouldn’t though. If he headed out for a quick patrol as soon as he sent the report in, he could probably snag a snapshot or two while he was out. The Bugle wouldn’t want those, but he did know a few Instagrams and Tumblrs he could submit them to where they’d be up by morning. 

  


* * *

  


After finals came the holidays. Peter made sure to go out on patrol at least once a week as soon as school was out. He spent a few days with Aunt May, full of store-bought pies and hand-knit christmas sweaters. May doted on him a lot and praised his grades. She sent him home with a tin of homemade christmas cookies that he warned Wade not to eat under any circumstances. 

He also spent a few days with MJ and Harry, before they headed out to Aspen for New Years. It was nice, he could pretend to be a normal college kid again, doing normal college things. MJ was bright and bubbly, and dragged him out christmas shopping, then to burgers. She teased him about Wade some more, but mostly it was like old times. 

  


* * *

  


Once he started patrolling again, Peter didn’t see Deadpool for almost two weeks. He heard from him every day though. When he got the phone out, he had a ridiculous amount of unread texts, all of them from Deadpool. That didn’t stop once he texted back an _I’m fine, chill out_ message. It was a constant stream of emojis and bad jokes and pictures of cute dogs and memes he’d found that made him laugh. 

Peter felt weird because that was actually really nice. He’d _missed_ that, while he was concentrating on his school stuff. He put it down to loneliness. 

He was in the middle of stopping a small-time robbery, just a few masked teenagers trying to pry open the back door of a cell phone store, when it happened. The teens scattered quickly when he showed up, and Peter tried to give chase if only to scare them straight, but the kid he was trailing turned down a blind alley, and suddenly there were a bunch of guys there, all dressed in black, all moving fast enough that he couldn’t quite dodge them. It was a trap, _clearly_ and he wandered right into it. 

Peter backed up and managed not to let them get a hold on him, but he didn't quite get away. They were _quick_ , and they had _swords_ for some ungodly reason, and it was five of them versus one of him, which was _not_ a fair fight. Peter was mostly focused on staying far enough out of their reach that they couldn’t run him through, but close enough that they stayed contained. 

He thought about the pedant Deadpool gave him, hanging under his suit, against his chest. He fumbled for it, fingers maybe sliding against the switch through the cloth, but he wasn’t sure. He dodged and rolled, and managed to evade a few more strikes before one of them gets him in the meat of the shoulder. 

He’s gone before they can get another strike, but the wound is deep enough that it’ll need stitches. He swore quietly and dodged again. 

He heard Deadpool before he saw him. Deadpool dropped into the fight with his own swords swinging, and Peter relaxed for a moment. Deadpool made a witty remark that Peter didn’t quite catch as he moved. Peter took the moment to climb up out of reach. The webs aren’t great bandages, but the way his arm is bleeding they’d work in a pinch. 

After that, the fight was easier. Deadpool wasn’t predictable but Peter could follow his lead well enough anyway. They managed to get the swords away from three of the guys, and Peter webbed them down. Peter webbed the fourth guy up too, sword stuck over his head. He could see blood, but he couldn’t tell how badly injured any of them were, half because of the all black clothing and half because he was still dodging blows from that last guy, and keeping him away from his compatriots. 

Deadpool popped between them, with another snarky comment, and brought his sword down on the thug’s collar bone hard. Peter wanted to comment on it, ask for non-lethal force here please, but then the guy ran a slightly shorter sword right through Deadpool’s stomach. Like, Peter was behind him, and he could see the end of it peeking through Deadpool’s back. 

Peter panicked. He pulled Deadpool back and flipped over him, kicked the other guy in the face hard enough that he wasn’t moving when he hit the asphalt. Peter didn’t think about checking on him though, just shot enough webbing on him that he’d say put no matter what and grabbed Deadpool as carefully as he could. 

He took a few turns, then swung them up towards the rooftops. He didn’t prolong the escape though, just found the first relatively secluded spot — nestled between the back of a billboard and a giant water tank — and laid Deadpool out. 

Peter could hear him struggling to breathe, so he reached down to pull the mask up. Deadpool tried to push his hands away, but Peter was stronger than him on a good day. Peter just hushed him. 

“Relax, I’m not taking the mask off, just trying to clear your airway.” Peter said, “I promise.” Deadpool still tried to wave him off, but Peter pushed through it and peeled the mask up at his neck. 

Then he froze. They both did. 

Peter _recognized_ the irregular patterns of scarring scattered across the sliver of skin. His hand shook, and Deadpool— Wade? —let out a gurgling protest, hands pushing at Peter weakly. Peter dropped the mask and shakily grabbed for Deadpool’s— _Wade’s_ —hands instead. 

He held tight while Wade twitched and went still. He held tight, staring dumbly at Deadpool’s mask long after his head lolled heavily to the side, long after the dark spread of blood slowed to a stop, long after his own legs went numb beneath him. He had no idea _how_ long, but it felt like forever. 

Then suddenly Wade jolted, his body seizing up as he took a deep wet breath and started sputtering. Peter watched dumbly as Wade reached shaking hands up and pulled the sword out, sending it skittering across the rooftop. Then he rolled to the side, peeled the mask up, and coughed a mouthful of dark blood onto the rooftop. Peter blinked. 

“Wade?” He sounded small. Deadpool snapped his head around to stare back, mouth hanging half way open. 

“Oh. So that was a thing, huh?” Wade raised a hand, poking at Peter's leg firmly like he expected him to not be solid flesh. “Oh fuck, so that was a _real_ thing that actually _happened_ then. Uh, hi.” 

“Wade...” Peter knew he should say something else there, but he _couldn’t_. Wade pulled the mask all the way off, looking up at him with familiar worried eyes. 

“Yeah, Spidey?” Then, hesitantly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt or something?” He sounded concerned. He sounded familiar. Peter swallowed and shook his head. 

“No I-“ his voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “I’m fine. I just... you were _dead_.” He trailed off, and Wade tried to sit up. He flinched and swore quietly before turning stiffly around so he was facing Peter, looming over him a bit. 

“And now I’m not. I’m fine.” He sounded bright. “It’s real sweet of you to be concerned but I can’t really die so it’s _fine_. It's part of the job." 

Peter nodded dumbly and watched as Wade climbed to his feet. It was jarring, seeing Wade in the Deadpool costume with no mask on, like he was trying to smash together two puzzle pieces that didn't fit together right. Or maybe they did fit, but the picture didn't match up. 

"God, dying always takes it out of me. Hey, Spidey, wanna get Tacos? It's probably, what," Wade slipped his phone out of one of the pouches, the flip phone Peter recognized, and checked the time, "Well, huh, it's pretty late. Maybe breakfast instead? I could _murder_ a couple egg sandwiches right about now." 

Peter watched him, feeling small and dumb and confused because he hadn't caught up yet. He could see Wade walking around, talking and cracking his back like he _hadn't_ just gotten run through with a hecking sword. He could also remember the weight of Wade in his arms while he was dying, the way he went limp and heavy. Peter swallowed. 

"No, I uh, I should get home. I've got... stuff to do. Work, I've got work." Peter trailed off, and Wade studied him blankly for a moment before he snatched up the mask and pulled it back on. He looked different afterward, like something changed in him when he was wearing it. Peter couldn't unsee it though, now that he knew Wade was under there. 

"Great." Deadpool said, "Wonderful. Go do your stuff then, I'm going to go get breakfast.” 

Deadpool walked over to the edge of the building, and for a long moment, Peter thought he was just going to jump off of it. He didn't though, just walked to the fire escape and climbed down. Peter waited there, listening to the clanging of Wade's heavy steps as they faded away towards the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oml i suck at action, why do i try to write action. this is not my strong suit. comments, kudos, and concrit encouraged.
> 
> ( _validate meeeee_ )
> 
> and come yell at me on tunglr im @[ursweetheartless](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ursweetheartless) promise i'll be back soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter talks about his feelings once and only once.

Peter went home, but he didn’t stay there. It was weird, being there. 

And yeah, part of Peter definitely wanted to sit on the couch, maybe in the Spider-Man getup, and wait for Wade to get back. Part of him wanted to double check, to make _sure_ Wade was still whole and well and not dead in an alley somewhere because he jumped in to help Spider-Man. They could maybe talk, and Peter could maybe say some of the things he’d been trying to figure out how to say for a while now. They could have dinner and watch stupid television and fall asleep on the couch and it would be _fine_. 

He was scared though. Instead, he packed a bag and called MJ. 

MJ was waiting for him when he showed up, and Harry waved from the couch but didn’t get up to greet him. So she’d said something, but Peter didn’t know what it was, because Peter didn’t know how much she knew. 

He dropped his bag by the door and let MJ corral him up in the kitchen and make him a cup of tea, something sweet and minty and herbal that was actually nice to sip once it cooled down a bit. She waited until he’d relaxed, made small talk for a while before she struck. 

“So how’s things going with Wade then? Things still good on the home front?” She asked, carefully prodding at the sore spot. “Has he been doing anything… weird? You know you can come back any time if you want to, right? I can try to talk to Harry about toning things down if that’s making you uncomfortable, but you’re always welcome.” 

Peter stared at the tea in front of him. 

“No, Wade’s a perfect gentleman, I told you. He’s never done anything weird or creepy, honest, and he’s had _every_ opportunity.” Peter said, and he knew from his tone that MJ was going to figure him out before he was even done talking. He didn’t have the same conviction as before. 

“Oh, sweetie.” She said, leaning over to throw an arm over his shoulder. “You kind wish he would though, right? Is that it.” Peter nodded but didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at the mug in front of him. 

“We had a... “ Peter started, but stopped just as quickly. How could he explain the whole stupid situation when MJ didn’t know he was Spider-Man, and probably wouldn’t know who Deadpool was either way. How can he explain that Wade seems to be hopelessly in crush with his super alter-ego but nothing more than friends with him? How he was weirdly jealous of his own damn self here, and he wanted to tell Wade everything, but he didn’t know if it would help or ruin everything. “He doesn’t seem that interested. I mean, sometimes he does, but he’s never going to push it. He’ll never make the move on his own. So I have to just get over it, I guess, because we’re _friends_ and he doesn’t have many of those.” MJ rubbed his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Well if he’s not going to do it, you’ve got two options, Tiger.” MJ said, serious but still warm, “You can either forget about it, and keep being friends with him, or you can man the fuck up and ask him out. Either way, you have to pick one. Moping around like this isn’t really fair for either of you, okay?” Peter let his head fall forwards, slumping onto his folded arms on the breakfast bar with a dispirited groan. 

“I _know_ , I just… what if he doesn’t _want_ that? What if I ask and it makes it weird and I’m out an apartment and a friend and a… an everything else?” Peter whined, and MJ rubbed soothing circles into his back for a few more seconds before she pulled away. 

“If it happens, it happens. If you can’t do it, it’s whatever.” She said, seriously, “but if you’re going to forget about it you have to _forget about it._ You can’t leave it hanging over the both of you if you want to keep being his friend and not tell him. That’s not fair either. You can’t hold your relationship hostage over something you won’t tell him about.” 

She left then and went back to the living room. Peter heard Harry asking if everything was okay, and MJ’s non-committal answer. He heard them settle back onto the couch. He thought about it, long and hard. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do, but MJ was right. He had to do _something_. 

  


* * *

  


Peter stayed there for a week and a half, but he went back home before school started up again. Wade was in the kitchen when he got back, and he smiled carefully, like he was unsure of his reception, as Peter stepped into the room. Peter hated that look because he was feeling exactly the same way. Part of him had honestly expected to find all of his stuff in a pile in the street when he got back, that Wade would have changed the locks and told him to fuck off. 

Peter forced a cheerful smile and walked into the kitchen to wrap a hug around Wade’s middle. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the thing to do. Wade just hugged him back while he poked at a saucepan full of something that smelled delicious. Peter buried his face in the back of Wade’s shirt for a long moment, just thinking about it. He could say something. He _should_ say something. 

Wade moved around, added something to the pot before he put down the spoon and turned around in Peter’s arms. He slid a big hand into Peter’s hair and looked down at him, question clear in his face. Peter flushed, just a bit. 

“Hi,” Peter said, because it was the only word he could find. Wade smiled back at him. 

“Yeah, Hi. Did you, uh, have fun wherever you ran off to?” Wade asked, and Peter felt terrible then because he hadn’t actually thought about that. He hadn’t told Wade where he was going, or when he’d be back. 

“Sorry, I should have said something, huh?” He asked, ducking his head, “Yeah, it was fine. Spent some time with MJ. They got back from Aspen last week, she had literally _thousands_ of photos to show me. It was nice. It’s good to be home though.” Peter tacked on the end bit quickly, but it was true so he didn’t feel bad about it. He was absolutely glad to be back. 

“Ok, good. So, dinner’s almost ready if you’re hungry. No, forget that, I know you’re hungry, you’re always hungry.” Wade said as he pulled back. “And I have a business trip I have to head out on in a few days, something came up and I have to go take care of it, but how about we sit down and watch a movie tonight? It’s been a while.” 

  


* * *

  


They did. They sat down and had dinner, and then Peter fell asleep across Wade’s lap during the weirdly boring middle of some war movie. He woke up halfway through when the gunfire started in earnest, and Wade just kept petting his head until he fell back asleep. 

Peter wanted to say something, he wanted to sit up and tell Wade everything. He didn’t do it, though. 

  


* * *

  


In the morning, Peter woke up on the couch still, with a big fuzzy blanket he didn’t recognize tucked around him. Wade was in the kitchen, making breakfast, and he turned when Peter sat up and smiled. 

“I’ve got waffles made already, if you want some. I’m just making some bacon and eggs too. I know you don’t eat enough when I’m not there to keep you on task so I figured I’d get a head start on that before I pack.” Wade said and hummed happily while he stood by the stove and periodically poked the pan. 

Peter yawned and stretched, but didn’t get up right away. For a moment, he just basked in the perfect moment. He was warm and languid from sleep still, the blanket was criminally soft where his shirt had ridden up. He could hear Wade singing quietly in the kitchen, and the whole apartment smelled delicious. He didn’t have to get up and run off, he didn’t have class until the afternoon and he didn’t have to go into his internship until tomorrow. Right now, in this perfect little moment, things felt simple and manageable, and _good_. 

He thought about going into the kitchen and sliding up behind Wade. Wade was touchy-feely enough that he could get away with that much, but he kind of wanted it to mean something. He wanted to wake up like this every morning, and go to sleep like this, and come home to this. He wanted to say all of that without having to actually say it though, because that felt dangerous. 

So he didn’t. 

“Come on, lazybones! You have to get up and eat at some point.” Wade called, as he set plates onto the table, and Peter reluctantly rolled to his feet. He gave Wade a half-hug on the way by, and buried his face in Wade’s side for a moment before he sat down. 

“Thanks. For breakfast and for everything else.” Peter said, and he hated how cryptic it sounded, like he was alluding to something more. Wade just shrugged it off and slid into a chair across from him. 

“We gotta eat sometime, and I know you’ll just have sad oatmeal if I don’t make you something.” Wade said as he cut his waffle up, “You’ve eaten enough sad oatmeal to last all of us a lifetime, Baby Boy.” Peter smiled and dug in. 

Wade left the table when Peter was only halfway done, to start packing. Peter pouted, out in the living room where Wade couldn’t see it. It didn’t help at all that he knew what these _business trips_ were now. He knew this wasn’t Wade heading into some corporate headquarters somewhere. It was probably dangerous, and probably mildly illegal, and from what he’d seen Wade would almost definitely get hurt. 

He was still sitting at the table when Wade came back out, pushing the last bit of his waffle through the egg yolk spilled across his plate. He tried for puppy dog eyes when he looked up. 

“You go on a lot of business trips, you know. Do you really have to travel so much?” Peter asked, deliberately petulant. Wade quirked an eyebrow at him. Or, he quirked where anyone else would have an eyebrow. “It’s lonely when you’re gone. I just wish you didn’t have to go, you know?” 

It was the closest to a confession Peter could make right now. Wade grinned widely and tousled his hair. 

“That’s real sweet, kid. Daddy’s gotta make the money though, and so Daddy’s gotta go to work. You can always send me a text or two though, I’ll write back when I can. And this one should be short, not even a week if everything goes well.” Wade promised, dropping the duffle bag by the door and flopping down on the couch again with a sigh. 

Peter wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn’t say too much. Instead, he cleaned his plate and moved to the sink to wash the dishes. That felt productive, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Working through my WIP folder, so updates sometime. tomorrow? next week? several years from now? who knows! I certainly don't!
> 
> comments, kudos, and concrit welcome, come yell at me on tunglr, im @[ursweetheartless](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ursweetheartless)
> 
> (don't @ me though, i never get my @s)


End file.
